No expectations
by Aurora-swan
Summary: Sherlock returns to Baker Street three years after the fall without any expectations, ready for anything. But he's ready to clean up the mess he's caused. One shot, very short.


**Wrote this a long time ago and thought it was gone. But I found it. It's written before all the spoilers and stuff so it's not based on those. Just so you know. **

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His reaction was not at all what Sherlock had expected from his return. Of course he knew that it wouldn't be a reunion full of happiness and laughter, but he never imagined that his friend would be this hurt to see his face again.

He stood frozen in the hallway, stared into the wall full of nail scrapings and other dents and marks, and wondered if it was wrong of him to show up without a single warning.

But he needed to meet John, his doctor, his colleague. His friend. Three years had been painful for them both. He stroke his chin where the punch had struck and could tell by the strength of it that his friend wasn't really trying to hurt him, it was just an example of all the anger he'd caused him and there would probably be more where that came from. What did he expect, really, from knocking the door and wait for John to open, a cup of tea and a smile. Maybe it was for the best that John had fled the flat after he'd frown that punch, outside might just be safer to pick up a conversation, John would never scream at him amongst strangers.

He exited the house and he knew exactly which street to follow to find him again. Springtime lingered in the air and he followed its scent to the place where John currently was hidden from him. The park of course, since growing up at the country green grass and blooming trees would always have a soothing effect on the man who was recently boiling with rage.

He kept his eyes locked on the trees growing towards the grey sky and wondered if London would ever be the same from where he'd left it, if John and him would ever be back in old tracks and live life as the once had or if he'd burnt that chance the day he spread his arms like wings incapable of flight and jumped that building to the "permanent" destination.

There his blogger sat, on a wooden park bench staring at the pond that mirrored the sky and Sherlock slowed his determined steps to reach him. The doctor's face was stiff, he didn't blink, his jaw was painfully locked and Sherlock was almost afraid when he placed himself beside him to stare at the same pond.

The doctor's hands was placed in his lap and he squeezed his left hand that trembled. They didn't address each other. They just sat there for long minutes as the sky became darker and the air colder. The green grass underneath their feet glittered with raindrops and the recently blossomed flowers made the park smell sweet as the wind blew.

His friend shivered and Sherlock blinked where he sat. Silence might be good in their state, but this cold wasn't.

"I am sorry, John." he murmured and hated himself for how weak his voice sounded and how foul those words tasted in his mouth. He didn't deserve to be sorry and apparently John's thought matched his own.

"Of course you are." he scoffed, still not taking his eyes of the dark water. "Every one's been sorry about me since you…"

They fell into painful silence again, he could hear John swallowing continuously when he finally broke his gaze with the pond and screwed them shut. A deep breath filled his lungs with the sweet air as he tried to hold back the painful cries that he'd smothered for so long. In the corner of Sherlock's eye he saw how the hand was now calm, a good sigh, he thought as he stretched his back and slid back in the bench.

"I didn't want hurt anyone, John." he began and took a breath deep enough to make his lungs hurt.

The doctor opened his eyes that glistened of the tears that refused to fall and stared at his friend and or the first time in three years he remembered his face. During the time they'd been apart, his features had slowly faded from his mind. The first years he wanted to remember, he fought for his belief in Sherlock Holmes and nothing could change his mind about him being something real. But these last couple of months, his memory had been hard to keep. Life, after all, had to be kept on living.

"But I had to." Sherlock quaked and turned his head to look into those dark blue eyes that was the friendliest thing he had ever encountered. "The choices I had wasn't many. And being the reason for your pain was so much kinder than the other option." He bit down hard on his lower lip as he and swallowed the lump in his throat. "Please. Believe me."

They didn't brake their stare for a long moment and Sherlock found himself holding his breath as he looked upon his doctor. Three years had done much to him. There were new wrinkles around his eyes, more grey hairs and his skin didn't look as colourful as it once had, he looked older. Like life had swept away as he's seen him fall. But suddenly a small smile twitched the corners of his mouth and Sherlock's heart jumped in his chest.

"Dinner?" John asked and heaved himself up from the bench, buttoned his jacked and put his hands down his pockets. The huge breath fled the detective's lungs as a breathy little laugh that sounded ridiculous in his ears but it only made John smile more, suddenly looking ten years younger.

"Starving." he lied, stood up from the bench and followed his doctor out of the park.

London was once again waiting for them.

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**Hope you liked it. Tell me with a review and I'll be really happy! **


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